A Delicate Query
by Endeavor Network
Summary: Irene comes to Sherlock with a question he may not answer honestly.


**Disclaimer: I do not own any original content from _Sherlock_. I only own this story.**

 _ **Hello, All. New story? Very. Crappy name? Perhaps. Decide for yourself! Read and review.**_

 _ **HAPPY NEW YEAR!**_

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 **A Delicate Query**

Irene rubbed her back with the loofah in small circles. She was just out of the reach of the hot shower that filled the room with steam. She inhaled softly as she gazed at the faint light shining through the purple shower curtain. If she breathed too deeply, she would choke on the humidity.

Eventually, she moved under the stream and washed off the soap, careful not to get her bun wet. Before leaving the tub, she washed out the loofah and grabbed her soap. She stepped out onto the fuzzy, dark green mat and walked to the sink, where she laid her soap back in its travel case. She closed the lid and put it and the loofah in her duffel bag on the floor. Then, she picked her towel out of the three on the metal rack.

She'd been with the boys for three days, including the present one. It was her second visit since that unfortunate turn of events two years ago that made it necessary for her to go into hiding. She had to stop working and change residency often enough, staying away from Europe and the Middle East. During her hiatus, she had a marvelous time in East Asia, but, eventually, she developed a home-sickness for Europe. She indulged herself in the continent, and, after careful deliberation, she decided to hazard a short trip to the Kingdom. She checked with some contacts, made arrangements, and finally boarded a plane. She lay low for two days, staying in small hotels. It really wasn't that difficult. It was mostly a matter of keeping watch, and she still had some old friends who owed her favors.

On her third day back, she took a walk in Green Park. When she returned to her suite, closed the door, and took a few steps into the room, someone knocked. She pulled the door open and had to refrain from grinning.

"Mr. Holmes," she said, smiling politely and nodding to him.

"Ms. Adler," he said, returning the nod.

Sherlock Holmes played the perfect gentleman. She offered him a seat, which he accepted; she made tea, which he took; and they made light conversation. He asked her about her movements, and she asked him about his recent cases – she remained a devoted fan of John's blog. He was more than content to describe how he solved them, although he dismissed many as being "boring." Throughout their conversation, she thought she could just discern pleasure in the set of his mouth and the light in his eyes. At length, he politely stated that he had to return to 221B to clean something up before John got home.

"Of course," she agreed, uncrossing her legs and setting down her cup and saucer.

They rose and paused as they looked at each other. She gestured to the door, and he went ahead of her.

"Good day, Mr. Holmes," she said as he stepped out.

The corner of his mouth twitched up in a smile.

"Good day, Ms. Adler."

""""""""""""""""""

The next evening, she moved in. Only temporarily, though, of course. She was there, sitting in Sherlock's chair with her bags beside her, when the boys got back from a case. She rose as they came in.

"Mr. Holmes, Mr. Watson. It's lovely to see you again," she said warmly.

She thought she read that same pleasure in Sherlock's face. At any rate, he was amused by John's reaction. The latter was absolutely dumbfounded and stuttered out questions, which Sherlock coolly answered as he put down his coat.

She really wasn't a burden on them at all. She was quiet, picked up after herself, and didn't make John _too_ uncomfortable. As for Sherlock, she hadn't tried yet. She knew if he wanted to force her out, he could very well do it. It would be cruel, but he could. So, she decided to be a good house guest and stay out of his way for a while.

In the bathroom, she dried herself off completely and put the towel back. Then, she examined her face in the mirror, turning her cheek aside. The boys were each out on separate pursuits. John was at work. And Sherlock…Well, there was never really telling where Sherlock was when he endeavored out alone. He might have gone to France for the afternoon, for all she knew. She smiled invitingly at her reflection, then pulled the door open and headed for the kitchen. She stopped in the entryway.

Sitting at the island, looking into a microscope, was Sherlock. As she came in, he raised his head lazily, but once he saw her, his sharp eyes flickered rapidly over her entirety. Then, they focused back on the eyepiece.

She stared at him for that second in which he examined her. Then, she smiled and sauntered over.

"Mr. Holmes. I wasn't expecting your company."

She surveyed the island. The usual vials and dishes were littering the area, but it looked like he was doing a new experiment with whole human nails.

"I didn't expect you…" he muttered.

"To be…?" she offered.

"Naked," he finished unaffectedly.

She grinned. She was honestly almost proud of him.

"Oh, like I said, I wasn't expecting anyone."

"Of course not," he muttered as he replaced the specimen.

The first nail looked like it had been bathed in acid.

"Those poor nails," she sighed, "Don't they deserve some repose in death, Sherlock?"

He glanced quickly up at her, then back down. She reached out and rubbed up his arms to his shoulders.

"Mr. Holmes, I've always thought of you as a merciful man…"

" _Not_ to inanimate objects..."

She chuckled, but then said without humour, "Hush, I was only joking."

She brushed her fingertips down the back of his curly hair.

"I am hushed," he said, "Or I _was_ before you sauntered along, determined to chit-chat and have a ridiculous conversation about the afterlife warranted by dead keratin envelopes."

She inhaled as she withdrew her hands and leaned back to look at him. She decided to put the question to him. He was more likely to answer if he was annoyed.

"Well, I'll leave you to your work," she said.

"Yes, thank you, Ms. Adler," he chirped sarcastically as he switched out the specimen again.

He twitched to a stop, however, as she spoke up again.

"But just one question, Mr. Holmes, before I leave you alone?" she asked, smiling slightly and drawing herself up.

He sighed and rolled his eyes before looking up at her.

" _Yes?_ "

She'd set her shoulders, and she met his lax eyes with a firm gaze, taking on the air of The Woman.

"I want you to answer me with _complete_ honesty," she dictated, "If you lie, I'll know."

He raised his eyebrows, interested.

"Oh, will you?"

"Oh yes, I will."

" _Hm_ …Very well."

He took his hands off the microscope, placed them in his lap, and turned to almost face her. He raised his eyebrows again.

"Do you really feel nothing when you look at me like this?" she asked.

He burst into laughter and grinned.

"No, Ms. Adler," he chuckled darkly.

"No, with a straight face," she demanded seriously.

His smile quickly faded, and he gazed directly into her eyes.

"No, Ms. Adler," he repeated coolly.

"Prove it."

He laughed again, this time with a cruel look in his eyes.

"I thought you were an expert on detecting deception."

"Humour me."

His smile faded once more.

"How?" he asked.

"Put your hands on me," she said simply.

His lip twitched into a smirk.

"If you refuse," she began pointedly, "then - as I'm sure you're aware - you'll have given me ample grounds to claim you have reserves. And of course, the Great Sherlock Holmes has the heart of a lion…or so I've heard."

She thought something was working in his face. Then, suddenly, he turned to face her full-on.

"Where?" he asked abruptly.

"Anywhere you like."

He slowly raised his hands from his lap and reached out to rest them at her waist. All the while, his grey eyes stayed locked on hers. Her face was calm, but her heart was fluttering. She had the horrible suspicion that he could hear it. But she kept her focus on his pupils, watching for a shift, a dilation, a hint of weakness, of primitive humanity. But no such sign was given so far: He was cool and hard and calculating.

She breathed evenly as his hands slid over her ribs. Then, his fingers spread out as he slid them to her front, still moving them upward. Her eyes widened. She couldn't help it, letting her excitement show. There was something in his eyes…Some emotion flickering…And his mouth…

His skin touched the tiny hairs on the undersides of her breasts…

The door clicked.

Sherlock spun around, grabbed the microscope, and put his head down. As it opened, Irene quickly turned, as well.

"Hello!" called John as he walked into the sitting room.

There was a long silence.

" _Aghh_ …" he scoffed dubiously.

"John," said Sherlock.

Irene was striding away.

She called over her shoulder, "Excuse me, John. My apologies. 'Evening."

She heard him sigh before she shut the bathroom door.

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 **THANKS FOR READING! Please review, or Sherlock and Irene will never make love!**


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